


What He's Mumbling?

by monarchyofroses



Series: Dead Poets Society [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Characters (17 years old), Canon Movie Era, Coming Out, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchyofroses/pseuds/monarchyofroses
Summary: "But. But that's what you do for...""...A friend," Maggie finished for him, or well, not exactly for him, considering he was about to come out.Richie to God, if you exist and this is your revenge for my atheism, it's not funny. Also, you suck.





	What He's Mumbling?

**Author's Note:**

> i explained everything i needed to explain in the first part of this series so all i want to say is i'm so excited to be back with more! i really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> you don't have to read the first part to understand this one but of course it would be better if you did. thank you for reading, i love you!!

Richie Tozier was a simple man. A sucker for simple solutions. 

You got a headache? Hot shower. Heartache? Hot shower. Every-limb-of-your-body ache after a fight that almost left you unconscious? Of course, hot shower. Richie doubted that there was a problem that couldn't be solved by a hot shower. Franco, for example, that man had probably never taken one in his entire life. Or pop music producers that sold albums of boy bands, like, the Backstreet Boys or some shit. People who urgently needed boiling water to make up their damn minds. 

And if there was a problem that could not be solved by a shower, it had to be closely related to his mother waiting for him to return to his room. Sitting on his bed. Fiddling with the now shattered frame of his glasses.

 

"What's up?"

 

Maggie jumped, as if she had not heard the door of his bathroom opening in the first place. Several seconds passed in absolute silence, sliding uncomfortably between them like the drops that fell from Richie's still damp curls.

 

"I... um. I didn't come earlier because I heard you were on the phone."

 

Richie felt something soften in his chest at hearing her so distant, so lost; and he decided to take a sit next to her. "It's okay."

 

It was easier when Maggie didn't try, when Richie could make her understand that he didn't want to talk about it with just two words, and she didn't bother pressing nor did he bother lying. A silent agreement had been settled in the house after Richie's first panic attack which consisted of two rules: enjoy the moments when the three of them seemed to be in tune, and not try to get into matters that they could not understand. The last rule was exclusively applied by Maggie and Went and although it costed Richie sleepless nights and anguish afternoons to get around the idea that his parents could not and could never understand him, resigning, at some point, began to feel good. The dynamic with his father flowed so much easily since he did, but his mother still suffered, because she still had not learned to resign. And she certainly wasn't going to do it while looking at the broken lip and purple eye of his son.

 

"What happened, Rich?"

 

The events were so recent that Richie didn't understand how the images had already begun to blur in his head, giving way to the touch and sound: his hands on Eddie's shoulders, guiding him towards the exit of the school, their friends conversations floating around them. 

The voice of Jug-Eared Marcus Nobody-Knows-His-Last-Name asking something that Richie did not catch, and to which Eddie replied "I'm already doing the project with Julia, I'm sorry." His feet returning their way until a new comment from Marcus, followed by an unbearable laughter, anchored them to the ground.

 

 _Did he just…_

 

"Richie..."

 

Eddie sounded desperate, like he had already known what was going to happen. Richie ignored him and his hand trying to stop him, and turned around to face Jug-Eared and his friend who looked like a psycho with his long grassy hair and his eye bags darker than the night.

 

"What did you just say?" 

 

Marcus' cynical smile was one of the few visual memories that Richie didn't think he could ever forget. "What? I wasn't clear enough for you?" 

 

"Apparently not," Richie allowed the same smile to form on his own face, and with a quick movement he had Marcus' throat pulsing under his right hand. 

A host of sounds became the protagonists of the scene: gasps, screams and bodies approaching and surrounding them and if Richie hadn't been possessed by a murderous rage making his veins boil, he would have released his grip within seconds. 

"What the fuck did you just say, you cuntface?"

 

Marcus swallowed. Remained silent. Then swallowed again, tasting his next words. "I said whatever, _faggot._ " 

 

After the first punch, everything went to hell very quickly. Marcus was bigger than Richie, in every sense of the word, and it wasn't a problem for him to bear a couple of punches to have him lying at his mercy. A female voice screamed, "don't let Eddie go, Mike!" just before his lip turned into a bloodsucking faucet, and Richie saw Stan's figure being tackled by the psycho as soon as he tried to catch Marcus by the neck. 

When Beverly and Elijah (the fifth Beatle Elijah, from algebra) managed to stop the fight, Richie thought he was one blow away from losing consciousness: his ears were whistling and his skin felt too swollen to be his skin; the yells of his friends vibrated in every cell of his self. 

Of course, it was Richie's fault for having thrown the first punch, and the principal Noonan didn't seem interested in the endless quota of neo-nazi students who assisted his school. Anyway, Richie was not expecting anything more than a call to his parents when he appeared in the nursing looking as if he had fucked the girlfriend of a Sicilian gangster, and that was exactly what he got. 

 

"The principal didn't tell you?" 

 

"Your principal said, and I quote, your son never liked Dennings, Mrs. Tozier, and became crazy when the boy insisted Kaspbrak for help with a school project." Maggie paused only to look at him with disbelief splashing in her eyes. "So I trust you will tell me the truth." 

 

And Richie could laugh. Richie could wallow on the floor at that very moment with tears rolling down his cheeks until his mother stopped or joined him, he could drown in the absurdity and homophobia and impunity of Derry and the world. But he didn't, because his heart needed to know: 

"How are you so sure that it's not the truth?" 

 

Maggie's incredulous gaze turned into one full of pain and transparency, and maybe Richie was not a half of the simple man he claimed to be when he had his mother so close. So far. 

Was it too terrible that a part of him, the part that hadn't healed yet, fed itself on her pain?

"Richie..." She began, a sigh wandering on her lips. "I know I'm not the mother you want to have, but what you told your father the other day? You were wrong. I do know you, son. I may not understand your brain, but-" 

 

"Maggie," Richie tried to interrupt her. "I shouldn't have said that-"

 

"But I know your heart. And you are not a bully." 

 

"Mom, I'm trying to tell you..." 

 

"It doesn't matter what you said to your father now, Richard!" Richie shuddered at the sudden change in her voice, and if Maggie noticed, she was kind enough to tone it down without emphasizing on his pathetic reaction. " The only thing that matters to me..." She continued, cautious. "The only thing that matters to me now is to know if they are abusing you." 

 

"They are not," He replied, and it occurred to him that maybe he replied fast enough to sound suspicious, so he added: "They don't abuse me. Really. I mean... they used to do it, when I was younger, and I was victim of some harmless bully, but even those punches didn't hurt this much." 

Maggie placed one of her legs over the other, perhaps to disguise that they were trembling, perhaps to let him know she was paying attention. 

"And it's not like now everyone likes me, I know what they think and say about me and I couldn't care less. But..." Please, do what you always do. Please, don't understand. "But I couldn't let it go this time." 

 

Maggie nodded and licked her lips. "Because this time they were onto Eddie, right?" 

 

Huh. Misfortune (male name), adverse luck. 

Was it a good time to make a joke? 

 

"No, of course not." His mother's eyebrows rose to almost touch her hairline, and she was totally about to ask another question, so. "I couldn't let it go because. What kind of guy wears a Bon Jovi shirt to school, ma? Really." 

 

Richie was sure that, for a moment, he saw his death reflected in the eyes of his own mother. 

"Richard."

 

"Well, actually the question is who the hell wears a Bon Jovi shirt anywhere. I'm telling you, this generation couldn't be worse-"

 

"Okay, Richie, you're done." Maggie abruptly got up from the bed. "And you are not allowed to go out tonight." 

 

"What!?" Richie shrieked, the feeling of absolute injustice clogging his throat; forcing him to wonder if that's what an average teenager with less permissive parents felt on a daily basis. "It's Wednesday! You know I always..." _Spend the night with Eddie on Wednesdays._ "You know I always go out on Wednesdays, mom." 

 

"Well, not anymore. It's a school night, after all." 

 

“But they suspended me! It's not like I have to go to school tomorrow!" 

 

"Do you really think you can use that in your favor!?" 

Maggie was exhausted, it was easy to notice. With one hand she was holding the handle of the door, with the other she was holding her head, and this was the reason why his father had chosen to sit on the sofa and watch TV instead of joining their conversation. This was the reason why he had seen his mother cry sometimes, when the frustration closed her mouth and made the words flow through her eyes. 

And maybe it was not his fault, but Richie felt it was. Maybe he could make an exception. For Eddie, because he needed him that night. And for Maggie, because she tried. "This is serious, serious enough for me to be here, and all you do is turn everything into a joke. I'm begging you, Richie. I beg you to talk to me."

 

"He called him a fag," Richie conceded, a chill accompanying the confession. "Eddie, I mean. He called Eddie a fag."

Even thinking about making eye contact with his mother while she was crossing the room, while she was sitting next to him again with an expression that told him she knew everything (or worse, that she knew nothing); was enough to turn his headache into a migraine.

"And it's not like Eddie needed me to stand up for him, you know? If Beverly wouldn't have ordered Mike to stop him, he could have finished Marcus and anyone who crossed his path." _Get off him, you fucking piece of shit!_ Richie couldn't do more than bleed and picture Eddie struggling against Mike's arms and the knives hurting his throat and making his voice break, _Fucking get off him, you freak! Get the fuck off him! Mike, let me fucking go!_ "But. But that's what you do for..." 

 

"...A friend," Maggie finished for him, or well, not for him, considering he was just about to come out.

_Richie to God, if you exist and this is your revenge for my atheism, it's not funny. Also, you suck._

When he surrendered and met his mother's gaze, there was a twinkle in her eyes that Richie couldn't identify. "That's completely reasonable, Rich. I'm proud of you. You are a very good friend." 

 

Yes, the best friend in the fucking planet, but Richie had no plans to get into details with his fucking mother, now had he?

"Uh," The phone started ringing then and interrupted whatever idiocy his brain was about to come up with and, in the third ring, he remembered that he couldn't raise the handset telepathically. "So. I should answer, but you can stay here, I don't mind." Firstly because he knew it wasn't Eddie, and secondly because he had the feeling that his mother wouldn't go on her own.

Richie crushed the device between his shoulder and his cheek. "Dick Tozier here, may I know with whom I have the pleasure of-" 

 

"Richie," Stan sounded bored already. "How are you?"

 

"Physically and emotionally destroyed, thank you for asking." 

 

"Mike is here and he asked me to tell you-"

 

"Mike's there? At the Uris residence?" Richie checked the time on his watch. "At half past five? On a school night?"

 

"Okay, yeah. I'm going to hang up now."

 

"No. No no no no! Wait!" Silence. "Tell Mike that I appreciate he took care of Eddie while I was getting killed." 

 

Stan hummed and exhaled an amused 'drama queen'. "Is that all?"

 

"No, I still have a pending thank-you." 

 

"Watch it." 

 

"Thank you, Staniel. For calling, and for receiving some bruises because of me." 

 

"Yeah, no problem." Richie knew Stan had something else to say, so he waited. "I'm not ugly like you, nobody in the group is worried about me losing beauty."

 

Richie laughed, consumed by the urge to hug him until he was thrown against the nearest wall. "So. They're worried about me?"

 

"Eddie called to help him break up with you." 

 

"That bad, huh?"

 

"You'll survive."

 

"Yes," With a very much needed sigh, Richie reciprocated the curious eyes of his mother. "I think I will. I have to go, say hello to Mikey for me. I love you." 

 

"Bye, Richie."

 

_I'm making this harder than it really is_ , he repeated it a million times in his head after he hung up the phone. _I'm making this way harder than it really is._

 

"Was it Stan?" Maggie asked, as if she hadn't hear the whole conversation. 

 

"Yeah, he was worried, I suppose."

 

"Of course he was," She trailed her bony hands from her thighs to her knees. "So. If there isn't anything else you want to tell me, I think we are done here." 

 

"Can I-" Richie cleared his throat. "Can I go out tonight?" 

 

Maggie nodded. "I don't see why not." 

 

"Cool."

 

Drops of sweat replaced the drops of water on his back. 

He hadn't been scared when the police caught him painting "Bush still sucks" in an alley. He hadn't been scared when Bill approached him with his new tattoo machine and a creepy smile. 

Trying to confess something like that to his mother, though? Without having the slightest idea of how she would take it? Richie was terrified. 

"I'll visit Eddie," His heart wanted to get out of his chest. "That's what I do on Wednesdays... and Mondays. And Fridays. And-"

 

"Woah, who would have thought?" Maggie brushed a curl from Richie's face. "Mrs. K allowing _my dirty son_ getting so close to his precious child. 

 

Richie considered her in silence for a few seconds, unsure of what was happening. "Yeah, no. She doesn't know. I get into her house through Eddie's window."

 

"It couldn't be legal coming from you, right?" Maggie looked amused. "Alright. Be careful, I'll go get started with dinner-"

 

"Mom!" _Now or never, Richard._ "I love Eddie!"

 

Richie did. Richie really, really, loved Eddie. 

Richie loved him for what he was and for what he thought he was. Richie loved him for what he knew and for what he thought he knew.

Richie loved him since the moment he met him, probably, when Eddie started kindergarten two months late and got angry with the teacher for presenting him as Edward and not Eddie, when later that day Richie discovered him bringing a pacifier to his mouth because he thought nobody was looking at him. 

Richie loved Eddie when he didn't want to be loved, when he pushed him away and kept on avoiding and blaming Richie for making him feel so much without explaining why. 

Richie loved Eddie when he ran twenty blocks under the torrential rain of that glorious Thursday to tell him that he was ready. To tell Richie he loved him too.

Richie loved Eddie with all the letters and with none, with the infinity of numbers and universes and with a force that still made him tremble.

 

"I know, Rich." _Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump, thump thump._ "I know how much you love your friends."

 

"Ma- are you..." Deaf? Blind? Trying to make me cry right here, right now? Richie felt like Peter and like the Rabbit at the same time, and just when his head was about to explode, his mother laughed. Like fucking hard. Her eyes filled with tears, and. Oh. "Are you playing with me!?"

 

"Oh my God," Maggie managed to answer between laughter. "How come you just notice?"

 

His mother laughed, but she still didn't show a posture; she still didn't give an answer. Richie still couldn't breathe. 

 

"Jesus, mom. This is serious."

 

"It is, I'm sorry." The breath she took to calm herself didn't erase her smile. "I'm sorry, did it really cross your mind that I would be opposed to your relationship with Eddie?" 

 

Richie blinked. "Huh?"

 

Maggie looked at him like he was crazy or stupid. "Richie, my brother is gay."

 

"I'm aware," An exceptional man, uncle Donald. "It's just... people say it's different when it's your son who, you know, who is it." 

 

"That sounds like something a homophobe would say." His mother's gaze shone with confidence and sincerity, Richie didn't recall feeling so calm since the last storm during which he slept in his parents' bed: warm and happy. There was a lot he could say, but he just nodded. "Now that I know it from your mouth and not from my maternal instinct, why don't you ask Eddie to spend the night here instead? That way you wouldn't have to hide all the time."

 

"That would be perfect, mom, but we are not entirely hidden from Sonia." Maggie frowned. "I mean, she knows we're together." 

 

"Did you tell that crazy psychiatrist before telling me!?"

 

Of course. Of course that was Maggie's only concern. Not the idea of his son probably spending the rest of his life kissing another man, but the idea of her not being the first to find out. Richie gave rise to the first genuine smile in hours. "Eddie screamed it to her during a fight, it wasn't planned." 

 

Maggie grimaced. "How bad was it?" 

 

"I can only enter her house by day and while she's there, and we can't go up to Eddie's room." The only reason why Sonia hadn't forbidden him to see Richie was because she thought that way she would prevent Eddie from moving with him to New York. "She practically doesn't let him go out at night, and if she does she drives him to Bill or Mike's house and her mothers have to lie about me not being there." 

 

"You know... the funny thing is that she thinks that by doing this, her son is going to forget about his sexuality," Richie knew Maggie wanted to laugh, and Maggie knew it was not the best time to do it. "Or forget about thinking of having sex with you." 

 

"Mom!" Richie didn't blush easily, but his cheeks went from the color of the snow to the color of a tomato in a thousandth of a second. "Do you have to say it like that?" 

 

"Are you blushing from talking about sex? You?" Maggie no longer contained her laughter. "That means you've done it already." 

 

"Enough!" Richie covered his face with his hands. "Get out!" 

 

"Alright. But you'll talk with your father about this," Before Richie could complain and refuse and go back into the closet to never come out again, his mother added: "Like it or not. You're seventeen years old and under my control." 

 

"You are a horrible, horrible dictator." 

 

Maggie waited until Richie had remover his hands from his face to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. This time, Richie felt warm for a different reason. A reason he had be yearning for so long. 

 

"Thank you." 

 

Richie looked at her carefully, as if a simple gesture could break what they had just built. "Why?" 

 

Maggie smiled. "For telling me the truth."

She got up from the bed and headed to the door, and Richie didn't stop her. He didn't stop her, but she did it anyway before she left. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

 

_I love you, mom._

 

"Thank you. For listening."

 

When it was ten o'clock and Richie showed up in the living room with a backpack slung over his shoulders, vibrating with the anticipation of seeing Eddie after the longest and strangest day of his life, his father was there. Sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Richie wanted to make a joke, tell him that if drinking was as bad for teeth as he insisted, his would fall soon. But he couldn't, because the air was loaded with something that dried his throat. Wisdom, surely, and it was a good thing that his mother advanced his task; but Richie didn't have the chance to wonder if he was ready for his father to know. 

As if reading his mind, Wenteworth broke the silence. 

"I already knew."

 

Richie raised an eyebrow, trying to not look as affected by the confession as he actually was. "Oh? About... about Eddie, or?"

 

"Both," Went brought the glass of whiskey to his mouth with a smile that Richie knew very well, and made him blush even before his next words. "I hope you have condoms in that backpack."

 

"Beep beep, Went."

 

Richie crossed the room in gigantic steps, ignoring his father's laughter.

 

"Tomorrow I want you home at six!" 

 

"At eight? Okay, pa."

 

That night the air tasted like freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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